Date: Sun, 05 Sep 1999 09:21:30 +0900
From: andrejkoymasky@geocities.com
Subject: Goldfinch-03

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GOLDFINCH
by Andrej Koymasky Copyright 1999
written the 3rd of April, 1986
translated by the author
English text kindly revised
by Tom (chap. 1 to 4)
by Gilles (chap. 5 to 17)

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USUAL DISCLAIMER

"GOLDFINCH" is a gay story, with some parts containing graphic scenes of
sex between males. So, if in your land, religion, family, opinion and so
on this is not good for you, it will be better not to read this story.
But if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or because you think
you really want to read it, please be my welcomed guest.

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CHAPTER THREE

Kutkhay stood waiting near the old thunderbolt-split tree for awhile,
where he had laid his bow and his arrows along with the prey he had
killed.  He was waiting for his woman. He looked toward the village,
watching for her, on his guard to make sure nobody else approached. He
was nervous. He felt as if this was yet another trial, as important to
his future life as the all the others.

Hearing the call of a kingfisher, Kutkhay imitated it and the bird
answered. For awhile the boy enjoyed imitating the bird's trills, then
his attention was attracted by another sound. He heard a distant roar,
the bellowing of a moose. By instinct he tensed, heartened by the
prospect of taking after it, and tried to determine how far away it was;
then he remembered his obligation to wait for his woman, and resignedly,
then impatiently, he looked again through the trees toward the village.
Why hadn't she shown up yet? What could be keeping her?

He sat beside his bow, gazing with wonderment at its perfect graceful
shape. A new sound alerted him; somebody approached. He watched
carefully until he recognized the petite delicate form of his woman
clambering up toward the tree. She spotted him still at a distance and
waved a happy greeting as she continued the uphill climb.

Kutkhay's nervousness returned. He felt his body tense. Would he be able
to do his duty? Would he enjoy it? Would she? Was he supposed to undress
her or...

The girl stopped three paces in front of him. "Here I am," she said
simply.

Kutkhay stood up awkwardly. "Is this spot all right?"

She pointed with an embarrassed little giggle. "Let's go there where the
thicket will hide us." The boy nodded and followed behind her. Here, a
few steps away, Kutkhay realized that, once they lay down, no one would
be able to see them unless they came really close. He looked at the
girl, musing that her breasts were rather small. She shyly smiled. "Put
down your bow..."

He did, and she walked right up to him. Then with a simple gesture, she
untied his loincloth, letting it fall to the ground. She looked at him.
"Oh... you have a fine physique." Then she untied her apron, becoming
naked in front of him for the first time.

Kutkhay slowly looked at her from head to toe. She wasn't bad at all,
for a woman; her body was lean and slim, with only a few slight curves.
She lay down on her apron and said with an innocence in her little
voice, "Come..."

Kutkhay leaned down to her. She caressed him tentatively. Little by
little a timid erection arose  and she seemed delighted. She caressed it
for a long while with both hands until it was fully erect. Mokoa would
have accomplished that in a moment, the boy thought. He lay against the
length of her body and made his first attempt to penetrate her. It was
awkward for a few long moments and it seemed he wasn't going to succeed,
but at last, with her help, he entered her. She uttered a little cry and
shut her eyes tightly, but soon she was encouraging him with a smile.

Kutkhay fulfilled his duty with enough honor. It was rather enjoyable
after all, even if less so than he had hoped. Only by closing his eyes
and fantasizing it was Mokoa lying here with him instead of this girl
was he able to get aroused enough to reach his orgasm. Mokoa doesn't
have the unseemly breasts; his chest is much more beautiful... and his
genitals, magnificent, thought Kutkhay, somewhat perplexed.

They stood up to dress. The girl thanked him with a deep blush. He felt
peculiar. Anyway, at least he carried out his duty. They planned the
next assignation, bid each other farewell, and parted.

The boy resumed his hunt. He still had to bring down another prey for
his woman's parents. Being alone again gave him a sense of liberation.
He loved wandering in the woods. By evening he returned to the village
with several small but worthy prizes. He presented the ritual gift to
his in-laws-to-be and brought the rest home. He saw the women repairing
fishing nets while the oldest men of the tribe took care of fishing
lines, harpoons and other implements.

He and his oldest brother carried shingles to the their house at the
summer village. His father and Tumchey were already there, and other
men, restoring their roofs. He worked with them diligently, while not
far away, others worked at preparing boats. Soon it would be the season
of the great fishing. Kutkhay could see Mokoa working on one of the huge
canoes with his father, watching the muscles of his exquisite body
flexing with the exertion of his labor. With his recently acquired
loincloth in place, he really didn't have to worry too much about the
effect this vision was having on him. He wished he could have been
working with him, just to be near him, but everyone, by tradition, had
their designated tasks. It had always been this way. Only the children
could meddle anywhere unrestrained. And only they could stay away
whenever they wanted. But he was an adult now and for the first time he
had to heed these rules.

As night began to fall they went back to the village, following another
tradition: singing heartily about their return from work. It served as a
signal to the women to finish preparing the meal. Moments before the
group reached the point where they split up, Mokoa moved up to Kutkhay.
He spoke softly, careful not to be overheard. "Are you coming to bathe,
tonight?"

"When?" Kutkhay asked, not hiding his eagerness.

"I'll give the cry of the owl, two times, then three, then one."

"Yes. I will come," the boy replied quickly, and quickly resumed
singing.

After the meal, many of the men sat outside, talking about some of that
day's events and the way their work was going. In time new small knots
of these discussions formed, where some were standing, and others went
to sit in front of other houses to join in whatever conversations were
going on there. The were endless dialogs. For awhile Kutkhay
participated, but when he found an opportunity to slip away, he set off
toward the woods, craving some time for solitude. He could still hear
the men's voices, though no longer clearly, and occasionally an outburst
of laughter. He could also still see the houses in the light of the
evening fires and the glowing dots from the lanterns and torches. This
was when the women would be putting the children to sleep, after which
they too would gather to talk, except they would assemble around the
fires within the houses.

Deeper into the night a mild breeze came in from the sea. Little by
little the fires went out. At last, from somewhere in the darkness, the
call of an owl. The signal! Kutkhay skirted the village to get to the
shore. He looked around, peering through the darkness, but couldn't see
anyone. This was disconcerting, and he began to ask himself if he was
mistaken about the signal, that it could have been a real owl's call,
but then the familiar voice called to him from the ocean. "Kutkhay Ö out
here."

He sharpened his eyes and caught a glimpse of his friend going under the
water. He quickly dropped his loincloth, anchored it with a stone, and
ran into the sea, splashing exuberantly. He dove under, re-emerging near
his friend. For some minutes they splashed each other playfully, neither
of them speaking, but gradually the playing ended. The water came up
almost to Mokoa's shoulders; Kutkhay bent at the knees, compensating for
his uncommon height. The ocean embraced them.

"How are you, brother?" Mokoa asked, his eyes shining.

"Fine, now that I'm with you."

"Did you meet with your woman?"

"Yes, today."

"How is she?"

Kutkhay didn't know how to answer, and hesitated, thinking. Finally:
"Um-m, a woman."

"Is she good at it?"

"Well, I can't complain."

"You don't seem very enthusiastic, brother," Mokoa grinned. Kutkhay felt
a little embarrassed and didn't really know what else to say. Mokoa
filled the silent void. "I too have fucked my woman. Yesterday."

"Uh-huh."

"Don't you want to know how it was?"

"Yes, of course." Kutkhay lied.

Mokoa didn't continue right away. Then, his voice low, confidential,
"With you I really love it so much, you know?"

Timidly, Kutkhay asked, "More thanÖ?" and held his breath.

"Probably not more, but you and I haven't really done very much. We
could change that, don't you think?" Then, without waiting for an
answer, he said with a note of eagerness, "Let's get out of the water."

They were back on the beach. Mokoa picked up his loincloth but he didn't
put it around his waist. Instead he threw it over his shoulder with a
casual attitude. Kutkhay found his own and did the same. They climbed
the rocks to a place where they were out of sight of the village. Mokoa
lay on his side and looked at his friend, smiling. "Come here, brother.
I want to play with you."

Kutkhay lay facing him. They looked into each other's eyes silently for
a long moment, their cocks, untouched, becoming aroused. With silent
acknowledgment of this, they began lightly stroking the naked skin of
the body before them. Their eyes shone like stars. Their bodies came
together more intimately, searching each other...

When they returned to the village both were enraptured by a new
happiness. Kutkhay realized he had been right. With Mokoa it was much
better. He was certainly more adroit than his woman, and infinitely more
enjoyable. His beloved friend had offered himself to him, saying, "Do to
me as at the initiation... Take me..." And Kutkhay had leaned into him
from behind without saying a word. At first he had a little trouble
entering, until his friend guided him with one hand. And then at last he
slipped into him. The interlude brought them to heights of ecstasy.  Oh,
how much Kutkhay loved holding Mokoa's beautiful body, so hard and
smooth. He made love to his friend with an unexpected exuberance,
tempered considerably by his natural tenderness.

At the first houses of the village, Mokoa turned him. "Sleep well,
brother."

"Definitely. You too. Will we get together again like this?"

"Yes, and I hope soon. It was really beautiful, with you. More than I
can say. But we have to be careful. Nobody must suspect anything. It has
to be our secret."

"Our splendid secret, Mokoa, my dearest brother," the boy whispered to
his friend wearing a contented smile.

They separated, returning to their own houses. Tumchey still sat outside
the door with two other young men, talking in low voices. Everyone else
had already withdrawn to their sleeping pads. Kutkhay went inside and
lay down in his corner. He didn't fall asleep right away though. His
mind was full of the two carnal experiences he had had that day, and he
couldn't help comparing them. But there was no real comparison to be
made. "It's a pity two men cannot marry," the boy thought as sleep
finally came.

Over the following days, he stole off several times with his woman, and
rather often with his Mokoa, who offered himself to him with growing
enthusiasm. When he was with his woman, Kutkhay closed his eyes and
imagined it was his friend under him; his friend whose intimate opening
was warmer and tighter, and whose naked body was harder and more
provocative. While he thrust in and out of him, he could manipulate and
caress his cock; with his woman this erotic sensation was left wanting.

The day arrived for the tribe's removal to the summer village. After the
ceremony of thanks was performed for the spirits of the winter grounds,
they proceeded to the summer village and performed rites of conciliation
there. In several trips all the household articles were carried.
Everybody worked together in the enterprise - the men and women, the
elders, the children. It took almost the full day to re-establish
themselves. Only the wall sidings remained to be transferred, so on that
first night they slept under roofs supported by skeletal structures. The
weather was mild, as the shaman had forecast. The next day the old house
walls were dismantled and reassembled at the summer grounds.

At last it was nightfall again, and Kutkhay could meet his friend once
more. They were too close to the village now to meet at their rocky
hideaway. So they chose to swim far out into the bay to a rocky array of
small sea stacks, to one they had explored earlier. Here they could
climb over to the side facing out to sea, where even in the light of a
full moon they would be unseen by any potential eyes back at the
village. In returning they would have to swim in from different
directions and re-enter the village separately.

Once they were together again, they immediately lay down in an eager
embrace, trembling with desire, and began making love. Kutkhay loved
looking at his friend's beautiful body, to see it now wet and glistening
under the pale rays of the moon, to watch him shudder with the
pleasurable sensations that flowed through them both as he stabbed his
throbbing member into him again and again, while they abandoned
themselves to their passion.

When they came back down from the heights of orgasm, Mokoa murmured,
"Kutkhay, you are indeed the best of all for making love, you know?"

The boy felt a sharp pang. "Sure. But you still go with others, right?"

"Yes, I told you, with two others. But you are the one I prefer."

It pleased Kutkhay to hear this, but at the same time it pained him. "I
hoped to be the only one  who..."

"But you know there are the others."

"Who are they?"

"I cannot tell you, I swore to keep the secret."

"But... did you tell them about me?"

"No, this is our secret, remember?"

Kutkhay was lying on his back, looking at the twinkling stars and
wondering why Mokoa didn't desire only him. He wanted to make such a
request of him, but felt that if he asked... no, Mokoa was of superior
rank. He could expect nothing. A sadness came over him.

Mokoa propped himself up on an arm and looked carefully at him. "What is
it, brother?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

"That isn't true. I can see it in your face."

Kutkhay sat looking at his friend and was about to pour out his heart,
when something beyond Mokoa's shoulder caught his attention. In the dark
void of the sea there appeared a pinpoint of light that vanished and
reappeared once more. It was as if a pale little star had fallen upon
the waves and was just floating there on the ocean's surface. Pointing
it out for his friend, his voice broke with excitement as he whispered,
"Look, there... what is that?"

Mokoa turned to see. After another moment the light appeared again and
Mokoa in turn whispered, "A light... in the middle of the sea...?" They
watched the blinking light silently for a long time. Then Mokoa spoke
again. "The big boat?"

Kutkhay eyes brightened. "Yes, it could be! Let's hurry back to the
village. We must alert the others."

Forgetting their scheme to be cautious, the two boys hurriedly dove into
the water and raced for the shore. They quickly donned their loincloths
and ran into the village, shouting at the top of their voices, "The big
boat! The big boat! Come out everybody! Hurry, come out!"

In just moments almost the whole village was a-stir, some few with sleep
still in their eyes, some still naked, and the air was full of murmured
questions, all asking essentially the same thing:  "Where?" The two boys
pointing toward that tiny glowing pinpoint was like a signal, for the
tribe moved en masse to the promontory, and they were able finally to
see for themselves the faint, flickering light upon the black water. The
shaman confirmed it. "It is so, they are back."

The village chief decreed a great bonfire was to be lit at once atop the
highest point of the promontory. The village was now not merely awake;
indeed spontaneously a great revelry burst forth. The sound of drums
rang out into the night, while food and drink materialized, and the old
people, for the umpteenth time, retold all they remembered of the
previous visits of the strangers  from the sea. Kutkhay stood at the end
of the promontory and watched the tiny dot of light, deeply moved. And
it was he, first, to discover it. "How long before they arrive?" he
asked himself.

The night passed in song and dance, and in old people's tales and in
youths' incessant questions. Sleepy children dangled from their mothers'
or sisters' arms by the time first light behind the mountains heralded
the dawn. The distant tiny light that had animated the village
disappeared, but now it was possible to discern a tiny dark speck upon
the waves, far into the west. The fading fire was restored and a great
deal of grass was added, creating a column of smoke, a bold marker in
the sky. The dark oceangoing speck slowly grew into the mighty ship as
it drew nearer. Kutkhay's fatigue was great but his anxious curiosity
was greater. He had remained standing all night long, watching, waiting.

Distinct parts of the ship became clear as it neared. The massive sails
were full with the captured wind, aglow in the early morning light, and
pushing this fantastic thing straight for their bay. Kutkhay was
breathless. It was huge, stately, and more wonderful than the fantasy of
his imagination. The figures of men moving on the deck, tiny at such a
great distance, became visible. As it reached the mouth of the bay, he
watched the ship tack, and soon after its sails were hauled down and the
anchor cast. Now he could clearly see the men on board nimbly climbing
the rigging and furling the sails. Two small boats were lowered and some
men climbed into them and headed towards the shore.

All the people ran to where the landing would take place on the shore,
where the chief was on his finely crafted stool, surrounded by the
elders seated on theirs, and of course, all in ceremonial attire. When
the boats were beached, the strangers came to the huge crescent shaped
crowd of the entire tribe. An impressive looking man approached, all
covered in white and blue garments, and with a strange headpiece
decorated with flowing white feathers. Beside him was another man. All
the others of the landing party followed, each carrying peculiar, shiny
sticks, all identical. The man accompanying this chief spoke their
language in a strong and clear voice, if with some mistakes and a rather
funny accent. When he gave the ritual greeting to the tribal chief, the
shaman answered in a strange language different even from the secret
language of men. The chief of the strangers seemed quite surprised at
this. There was a short dialog, and then he signaled to two of his men
from behind him. They placed a large chest at the feet of the village
chief and opened it. It was full of beautiful shining and sparkling
things, and when those close enough saw them a spontaneous gasp rose up.

The shaman explained that the strangers would be among them for a short
time. They required fresh water and game, and a supply of produce, in
order to continue their journey. The chief proclaimed to his people that
some of them were to assist the strangers, and Kutkhay was one of the
first to volunteer.

When the formalities ended, the chief of the strangers remained ashore
with his interpreter and two others. The rest went back to the ship,
eventually returning to shore with empty barrels in their boats.
Meanwhile the chief ordered a great banquet to be prepared to honor the
strangers. When the men from the ship came back with the first barrels,
Kutkhay and the other volunteers led them to the spring, using their own
vessels to fill them. Kutkhay studied the strangers as he worked. Their
strange garments were long and bulky, hiding their bodies quite
completely. Only their heads and their hands were exposed, and he saw
that their skin was even paler than his own. Their hair was a variety of
colors and textures, some having straight hair, some wavy, others curly.
This was completely unlike the inhabitants of his own territory, who all
had only one kind: black, straight hair. Kutkhay of course was the lone
exception, and his was different only in its gentle wave and almost
imperceptibly lighter shade.

"They are my people also!" he thought with a curious pride. He wanted to
talk with these foreigners, to ask countless questions, to visit the
huge ship moored on the open sea, to see if they knew of his real
father. But their strange language was an insurmountable barrier.
Kutkhay might have spoken through the interpreter, but that prospect
took more courage than he could summon.

When a barrel was full, four of the foreigners lifted it by poles
affixed to its sides, and carried it to one of the boats. Even these
smaller boats were impressive; wide, much wider than even their largest
canoes, and solidly crafted. They exchanged the full barrel for an empty
one and started back to the spring. Several men of the tribe formed a
hunting party and quickly departed. Women gathered herbs and fruit in
wide baskets. The entire village swarmed in a fervor of activity, all
for the benefit of the men from the sea.

Kutkhay tried to absorb everything about the newcomers. Outside the
village chief's house sat the chief of the strangers, whose clothing
bore golden decorations that glittered in the sun. These were surely a
powerful people, if their chief were so impressive and formidable
looking. The shining sticks that many of these men kept with them,
usually hanging from their shoulders, were an immense curiosity once one
of the old men explained to him that they were the actual thunder-sticks
he had been told about so often.

The women and girls could only chuckle and wonder when they realized the
staring strangers seemed quite fascinated by their bare breasts, while
Kutkhay wondered to himself why they covered so completely their own
bodies. Could they be so ugly underneath, and ashamed? Or did they
perhaps feel cold? It just seemed so unnatural to not go about
undressed. To Kutkhay it was annoying even to wear just his loincloth.

However, a little later he did see one of the sailors with his chest
bare. It was a broad, massive chest, uniquely beautiful as it was,
covered by thick hair at the center. None of the men of the village had
much, if any, hair on his chest. Would all the strangers be so hairy?
With this thought the boy surveyed the strangers within his view. He
spotted a young sailor pulling the clothing from his upper body who had
a fine chest also, but completely smooth. These two strangers were so
different from each it was hard to reckon that they were of to the same
tribe.

When the sun reached its highest point in the sky, the village chief
called for the great banquet honoring the strangers to begin. Everyone
took their place according to rank and age-class. A young sailor with a
friendly face sat near Kutkhay, and spoke to him in his foreign tongue.
"I don't understand," was all Kutkhay could reply, and the regret was
obvious in his voice.

The sailor repeated the same odd sounds; at the lost look he received
from the boy, he shouted something across to the interpreter who in turn
called out to the boy, "He wants to know your name."

The boy nodded, then looking at the sailor and pointing himself, spoke
slowly. "I am Kutkhay."

The sailor, mangling it a little, repeated, "Ayem-koot-haih?"

The boy laughed. "No, no, just Kutkhay!"

"Nonnou-jask-oot-kaih?"

The boy shook his head, smiling, then on an impulse took off his prized
necklace of pink shells and put it around the sailor's neck. The youth
looked at it admiringly and spoke again, then, as if remembering
something, brought out from somewhere in his peculiar garb a small
bright box. He held it out to him. The boy looked at the object,
recognizing right away that it was made from the same shiny substance as
his knife, and of the thunder-sticks. It was carved in very fine detail.
He opened it and saw it held two small white cubes with round black
spots on every side. The sailor pointed to them and spoke more foreign
words, strange sounds which Kutkhay did his best to repeat. Then he
closed the box, raised it towards the sailor to thank him, and slipped
it into the band of his loincloth near the precious little knife he was
never without.

The hunters returned in the evening with a vast bounty, game that was
loaded immediately onto the boats and brought to the ship. The laborious
task of replenishing the water supply was also finished. In time a dance
was performed for the guests, followed by a second enormous meal full of
ceremony. Kutkhay showed his gift to the interpreter and asked him to
explain its purpose or meaning. The man removed the two dice from its
splendid box, explained how to read the numbers, and demonstrated how
they were played.

Kutkhay was excited to learn this strange game and went looking for
Mokoa. He showed him this new treasure and explained the game.

Mokoa asked, "What happens if I make numbers higher than my opponent?"

"You win."

"I win? Excellent! But who do I win?"

"Nobody. You just win and that's all."

"But what is the sense if I don't win the other. It is a pointless
game." This dampened Kutkhay's enthusiasm briefly, but his smile
returned when Mokoa continued, "Anyway it is a fine gift, and doubtless
a valuable one."

It was late that night when the strangers returned to their ship and the
village was finally still. The next morning the strangers loaded the
fruit and vegetables. The farewell was formal, then the strangers
boarded, and the ship weighed anchor. The ship's sails unfurled, and
with grace and majesty it glided away to the north. All the village
gathered at the promontory, waving their arms in farewell in a markedly
less formal manner until the ship vanished over the horizon. The village
resumed its normal rhythm before too many days had passed, but the
ship's visit had aroused a considerable response, especially amongst the
youth, and for some time afterward was the predominant topic of all
their conversations.

Soon after the ship's departure, Kutkhay went to the shaman. The usual
greetings exchanged and dispensed with, Kutkhay quickly came to the
point. He expressed how he would have loved to learn the language of the
strangers. The shaman didn't respond at once, instead staring at him for
a long while.

Finally he said, "It is your father's blood speaking in you. He wishes
you to understand his language. This is natural."

Kutkhay looked at the shaman in shock, "You mean... you know him?"

"Yes, I alone in the village knows who your real father is, besides of
course, your mother."

This admission served to confirm in Kutkhay's mind another matter: the
identity of the mysterious "spirit" in the mask at the initiation
ceremony, the one who implanted in him the seed of his ancestors. He
decided not to mention this.

The shaman continued,  "All right. I will teach you your father's
tongue, but you must repay me with gifts. Also, you must swear to teach
it to no one else, not for any reasonÖ never."

"As you wish." the boy answered, hardly able to contain himself.

He realized he would now have to redouble his efforts at hunting and in
his work in order to fulfill these new obligations, besides those to his
family and that of his future wife, but Kutkhay was ready to work and
sacrifice without limit to obtain what he desired.

He asked bluntly, "Will you tell me also about my father? Did you know
him?"

"Yes, but you must tell no one. Not even your mother's husband knows
that you are not his son and this must never be revealed. Understood?"

"Yes. What was my father's name?" he blurted.

"James."

"What meaning has it?"

"This, I don't know."

"And... what was he like?"

"We shall talk about that another time, when you have brought me your
offerings."

That same afternoon, while he hunted with Mokoa, he asked, "Did any of
the strangers give you anything, a gift?"

"No, not one thing. But..." he continued with a sly grin.

"But?"

"I played in secret with one of them."

Kutkhay was hurt. Some part of him was disconcerted by the freedom with
which his lover shared himself, but a greater disappointment was in his
not having his own opportunity, or perhaps the courage, to have had a
similar experience. He pretended indifference. "And did you like it?"

"Sure did. They have a different way to do it, the strangers."

"Different, how?"

"Let's find a safe place. I can't wait to show you."

It had been a long while since Kutkhay had the chance to be alone with
his friend, and desire immediately flared up within him. When they found
a quiet place, Kutkhay resumed his questioning. "Did you just offer
yourself to the stranger?"

"No, as a matter of fact he asked me."

"But how were you able to talk with him? You don't speak their tongue."

Mokoa chuckled, "For such things you don't need to speak. It was a young
sailor. I fancied the way he looked, and he was alone going into the
forest, so I followed him. As I guessed - and hoped --  he was going to
take a piss. I hid and watched him as he opened his clothing. I was
curious to see if the strangers had different genitals. While I was
looking straight at his cock he noticed me. At first I thought I'd
better run, but he smiled right away and beckoned to me. So I went right
up to him and he just stood there, stroking his hardness. He undid my
loincloth... like this... then he took my cock in his hand... like this.
When I got real hard, like him, he held me against himÖ like this. Then
he put his lips to mine, like this..."

Mokoa had his friend in a close embrace and kissed him on the mouth. At
first Kutkhay found this a very strange thing, but before long he
succumbed to its pleasurable sensations and instinctively mimicked the
bizarre actions in return. Both became intensely aroused. Mokoa broke
the embrace, and while sliding his hands down Kutkhay's sides,
continued. "Then he crouched down, like this, grabbed me by the hips,
and with his mouth..."

The gasp of an exquisite thrill escaped from Kutkhay's lips. "That'sÖ so
good... Don't stop," he moaned breathlessly,

Mokoa didn't need to be begged, but in a little while he stood up again
and kissed his friend once more while releasing his own loincloth. He
whispered, "Now you try."

Kutkhay eagerly duplicated what he thought he had felt being done to him
a moment before. The first taste of his friend's hard penis was
strangely lacking in flavor, at least a strong flavor, although he
didn't know what he expected, but the exhilaration he felt as that
beautiful flesh pole throbbed in his mouth was incredibly exciting. They
switched positions a few times, alternating with deep kisses. Next Mokoa
had him lie on the grass and, getting down on his knees, straddled his
friend's head and leaned over him. It took no time for Kutkhay to figure
out that they could pleasure one another at the same time. They were
both sexually aroused much more than ever before, and at a certain point
Kutkhay could no longer resist. He rolled to maneuver his friend under
him, and with a fierce new passion, impaled him with his turgid prong.

As he pounded into him, he asked in a husky voice he hardly recognized
as his own, "And did he do this to you also?"

"Ye-e-es..."

"And you liked it, didn't you?"

"Yesss..."

"But you like it when I do it, too, right?"

"Oh ye-e-esss... even moreÖ"

And they continued with astounding, new-found energy until they both
climaxed in a frenzied explosion. Mokoa turned to renew their kisses,
until their passions calmed and their bodies relaxed.

Mokoa asked his friend, "Do you like how the strangers play?"

"It is wonderful! We must always play this way, too, don't you think?"

Mokoa nodded with a bright smile as they looked into each other's eyes.

Kutkhay began his lessons with the shaman, quickly picking up the first,
basic expressions of the  new language. Since he was able to bring his
teacher game with surprising frequency, these lessons came at a fast
pace. Clever, and bright as ever, the youth learned rapidly, and was
soon able to have short conversations with the shaman. Just as rewarding
was what he learned of his father, James. In his mind, the image of the
sailor was an exotic, romantic figure: tall, with wavy hair of a golden
color, he had green eyes set into a handsome face.

The young man was charmed by the beauty Kutkhay's mother, and on an
occasion when he saw her leaving the village alone, he followed her into
the forest. As she was picking berries, he appeared before her. She was
frightened but fascinated and, while cautious, allowed him to reach out
with his hand as she stood still. James brushed lightly across her
breast with his hand, causing her to emit a faintly heard moan. He
proceeded to loosen her apron, and when it fell to the ground he
caressed her deftly at the entrance to her womanhood. After another soft
moan she responded with a caress of her own to his as yet concealed
manhood. He quickly undressed himself under her wondrous gaze and lay
her under him in the tall grass. He entered her and there they made love
for a long while, until he imparted his seed. They continued to meet
some three times more in the few days while his ship lay at anchor. When
the ship departed so did James, never to return. And when Kutkhay's
mother found herself pregnant, she guessed it was not of  her husband's
doing. The concerned young woman went to the shaman, disclosing to him
the furtive events with the tall stranger and appealing to his wisdom
for guidance. The shaman told her to simply have intercourse with her
husband and say nothing, allowing him to believe the child was his own.

Along with his routine activities as an adult of the village, and the
secret lessons with the shaman, Kutkhay continued to meet from time to
time with his woman and to do his duty, pleasant but hardly
satisfactory. As always, to achieve an orgasm worthy of his self-respect
he had to keep his eyes shut and imagine it was his beloved Mokoa lying
beneath him, responding to his efforts.

One day, at last, Tumchey's woman was recognized to be pregnant and so
the preparations for the marriage ceremonies began, first among them
being the two families consulting the shaman for the day most favorable
for the event. When this day arrived, Tumchey's family prepared for
bonfires at the center of the ceremonial area.

In the evening the bride's family brought their finest mat to one end of
this area, upon which the young woman was required sit. At the other end
was Tumchey, surrounded by his family and age-brothers. All the rest of
the village citizenry were at the two other sides, forming a wide square
around the bonfires. A village elder, not related to either family,
walked into the very center and addressed the bride in a voice clear and
strong for all to hear, yet gentle as a lullaby, explaining all the
duties of a good and worthy wife. He turned to the groom and gave an
appropriately corresponding speech. With these concluded he took Tumchey
by the hand and led him to stand in front of his bride. Tumchey held out
a hand to the girl and all her family members began to wail, watching as
he had her stand up and led her back to his mat. She followed him, but
as prescribed, showed her reluctance by keeping her head bowed and
making a show of how he had to almost drag her along.

Once they were seated on his mat, the old man took her arms and placed
them around her new husband's neck. He proceeded to do the same with
Tumchey. All the others began a jubilant procession in front of the
couple, leaving their gifts. This took some time, and when everyone
returned to their places the old man had the girl sit on Tumchey's lap.
Both pretended embarrassment, as the tradition required. Now all the
married couples participated in a traditional dance, during which
Tumchey's initiation fellows -- that is, his age-brothers who remained
still unwed -- lifted the couple who remained seated on their mat, and
carried them into the house of Tumchey's parents. The couple was removed
 to a bed specially prepared for this occasion, and the young men filed
back outside. They stayed outside and blocked the way so that no one
else could either enter or look inside.

The ritual was not over yet. Here, one of the men turned around to watch
the events as they unfolded. His duty was to describe in every detail
what transpired within, underlining the most intimate of actions with
salacious commentary. The couples continued to dance, but all the
others, as each deed performed by the couple was divulged, cried out
cheers of approval. In time the couple emerged, naked, and ran into the
ocean for perform a ritual bath, still escorted by the groom's party of
young men. That done, Tumchey dressed his bride and in his turn, his
friends dressed him, preparing for their return to the throng of dancing
couples. This signaled the start of the banquet, where some of the
edible gifts were also consumed.

The raucous meal concluded, the groom's age-brothers took the remaining
gifts and formed a kind of parade behind the newlyweds to escort them to
their home. The crowd, yelling out expressions of good wishes, slowly
dispersed to their own houses. The weather was pleasant, though, and
some, mainly men, formed little groups who talked among themselves at
the shore or around one of the four languishing bonfires.

Kutkhay was one of those not yet ready for sleep, and he wandered to one
of the small groups, where the talk here compared the recent visit of
the strangers with those of the past. The boy listened to these tales
with a new sense of the reality of those events.

There was a moment when they heard a distant rumbling and one of the
elders looked to the southern sky. "The season of the small rains
approaches. And the Spirits favor us this year."

"Father, in how many days will the rains begin?" one of the youths
asked.

"Soon, my son, no more than three days."

The time of the small rains did come, as predicted, but it was the
harbinger of the great rains that followed directly in its wake. All
labor in the open air ceased, so the time was put to use within the
large houses. Here new tools were made, and vessels and boxes; weaving
and plaiting was done; and the need to mend, repair and maintain a
thousand small things was attended to. One emerged from his home rarely.
This of course included Kutkhay, meaning that he would have difficulty
meeting his woman, although that wasn't a cause for much regret. But it
also meant not meeting with Mokoa, and that weighed heavily upon him;
and even more than this, significantly, the rains hindered his
acquisition of the small game he needed for the shaman's lessons.

On the next opportunity for meeting with the shaman, when his lesson was
through he hinted at his dilemma. The shaman shook his head. " As you
know, except for my apprentice I am mostly  alone, as my status requires
me to live You can come here at almost any time to do small chores in my
house. You can also pay by performing some other services, affording me
some relief..."

Kutkhay recalled what happened during his initiation and supposed he
understood what the man was talking about. On that occasion there was a
good deal of pain, but there were moments of pleasure, too. And of
course, with Mokoa always found it to be extremely enjoyable.
Regardless, the youth was too determined to learn the language of his
father to allow anything to stand in his way.

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CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 4

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In my home page I've put some of my stories. If someone wants to read
them, the URL is

http://www.geocities.com/~andrejkoymasky/

If you want to send me feed-back, please e-mail at

andrejkoymasky@geocities.com

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